


No Rest For The Wicked

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, no turning back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's always another one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest For The Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010.

Arthur very nearly doesn't answer the phone. “Answer the phone and you'll get a reputation as someone who answers the phone,” his father had often told him. Of course, the kind of calls his father got aren't the sort of calls he gets. So he picks up.

“Hello?” Still cautious, he keeps his voice neutral, checks the exits of the apartment are clear and easy to get to.

“Arthur? Hey, it's me...Ariadne.”

He smiles despite himself at the sound of her voice. It's been two months since he's seen her. Seen any of them. He and Cobb talk a little on the phone, but they'd never really been ones for exchanging pleasantries, and Cobb has his life back now. He doesn't need the old one hanging around.

“Hey Ariadne.” Something stirs at the back of his mind and he looks back at his phone, eyes twitching when he sees the local number. “Where are you?”

“We're outside your flat freezing our bollocks off. Gonna let us in?” Eames' voice grates along Arthur's spine. He's pretty sure he hears Ariadne hit him, which is the only reason he lets them in.

“Come on up,” he says, hanging up before they respond. He heads to the window facing the street, just in time to see them duck inside the building. They must have been at the restaurant over the road. It's the only place he orders from when he's in town, which is why the number had seemed so familiar.

There's a quiet knock at the door, followed by a few more raucous ones. Doesn't take a genius to work out who knocked first.

He opens the door to find Eames leaning against the door frame and Ariadne glaring at him. The sight's so familiar it eases the tension coiled around his gut.

“It's not even cold outside,” Arthur says, a non-sequitor he knows they'll follow.

“Got you to open the door though, didn’t it?” Eames asks.

“No,” he replies, before stepping aside so they can come in. Ariadne gives him that look, the one he thinks she must have perfected at birth, that she knows him inside and out.

“Got anything to drink?” Eames asks. Arthur points to a small cabinet by the door and Eames immediately heads for the Scotch, like Arthur knew he would. He doesn't keep much alcohol around – he says it's because he likes to keep a clear head, but really it's because he just doesn't like the taste.

“Coffee?” he asks Ariadne and she nods, following him into the kitchen.

“Nice place,” she says and he shrugs. “Is it yours?”

“Belongs to a friend. He travels a lot, so he's hardly ever here.” He can see she wants to ask a question about that but he waits her out and the moment passes.

“Have you spoken to Cobb?” she asks and he can tell, just like that, that she hasn't been able to get Cobb to return her calls.

“Yeah,” he says, gently, as if he's letting her down somehow. “He's doing okay. The kids are glad he's back.”

“That's good,” she says. He smiles at her, proud of the way her face barely falls at the news. He misses Cobb too he wants to say, but not with Eames in the next room. He'd only say something asinine and the moment would be forever tarnished. Maybe he'll dream about it later and say all the things he wants to. That's what he usually does.

“What are you doing here?” he asks once the coffee is made.

Ariadne takes a sip and then looks at Arthur, _really_ looks at him. Yeah, he knows why they’re there.

He nods and walks out of the kitchen. They find Eames in Arthur's bedroom, shamelessly going through the cupboard drawers.

“Most of that isn't even mine,” Arthur says in his best long-suffering tone. He's not surprised, though he is annoyed at how unsurprised he sounds.

Eames just shrugs. “All the more fun, then, isn't it?” He's got that glint in his eye that means trouble and Arthur would be on his guard, if it weren't for the fact that Eames always makes him feel like that.

“Can't sleep?” he asks after a moment.

Eames pauses and turns around. “Has anyone ever told you your penchant for stating the bloody obvious is extremely annoying?”

“All the time,” Arthur says. Eames snorts and goes back to rifling through the drawers.

“Somebody has to,” Ariadne says and Arthur shoots her a grateful smile. He doesn't need defending but it's always nice when someone does.

He looks back out to the hallway, at the briefcase by the door. He wonders why Eames hasn't been going through that, and then realises that he has. That the only reason they're in here is to give him a get out clause if he wants. Eames is being _nice_.

He takes a long gulp of coffee while he tries to get his head around that. He finally settles on sleep deprivation.

“So, there's a job,” he says. His voice sounds strange, like it's not really him speaking. He's not the one that does this. He's the details man, sure, but it's always been Cobb that's brought the job to the table.

“What kind of job?” Ariadne asks. She's eager, he can see, and there’s no way she'll turn it down, no matter what it is.

He looks over to see what Eames is doing. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, a knowing smile on his face. Arthur's not sure what his own face is doing, though he's trying to convey the fact that he knows Eames already knows what the job is and that Eames is a thieving bastard all in one expression. He must succeed a little because Eames laughs and there's nothing cruel or mocking in it, just accepting.

“Best fucking job in the world,” Eames answers and Arthur has to smile at him. Can’t not.

“Yes,” he says, “it is.”


End file.
